


Blobs of Paint

by You_Light_The_Sky



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Series, Fluff, For once a happy thing, I love Skinny Steve, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, Slice of Life, meet cute, post-war Bucky, that might turn angsty if i continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 14:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/pseuds/You_Light_The_Sky
Summary: tumblr request from tracionn: skinny!Steve meet cute with postwar!Bucky?!AU where Bucky and Steve meet at an Art Therapy program. I like this AU so much that I'll take prompts to continue it.





	1. Murky Green and Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/gifts).



No matter how hard Bucky tries, the sinister blob of green on his canvas still looks like some strange Lovecraftian horror ready to jump dimensions and swallow him whole.

“Urgh,” Bucky groans, when the damned paintbrush falls from his stupid metal arm, into the red water cup. A few people behind him giggle. Bucky happily flips them off before digging into the cup to get his brush back.

Grey blobs of murky water join the monstrous green on the canvas. A metaphor for his life, apparently.

“Oh for fu—”

“That doesn’t look bad. You should see what Pollock and Picasso do with colours. You’ll feel like a master artiste then,” some dude jokes behind him.

“Look,” Bucky points his brush at the random asshole like a murder weapon, “I get it. I can’t draw for shit. But you don’t have to go around, making fun of me or…” Bucky stops. Then tries to speak. Then stops again.

The person in front of him is simply gorgeous. Hair like sunshine, eyes like the sea. He’s a skinny fella, but tall enough (still shorter than Bucky, probably), and those glasses are just… really hot. Bucky bets if he stood next to him, this guy would fit into his arms just right… and _why is his type here to see his terrible attempts at art, why didn’t Bucky just die in Afghanistan noooo_ ….

Sunshine-guy just snorts, then laughs gloriously. “You… don’t know much about art, do ya?”

Bucky slowly shakes his head. Normally, he’d flip the guy off, but come on, Bucky hasn’t seen someone his type in ages. And he’s kind of tired of moping around feeling sorry for himself. Isn’t this what the Art Therapy thing is for? To stop feeling sorry for himself?

“Here look,” Sunshine-guy pulls up his phone. He scrolls through a few pictures that look like a bunch of toddlers just splashed paint together and called it art. The Picasso stuff somehow looks worse, but at least it’s trying to be something. “These guys are famous. Yours could be too, if you decide to give your piece some deep and tragic theme.”

Bucky stares back at the blob of green and grey. Then at Sunshine-guy. “Deep and tragic? What, like, the terrible battle between a metal arm and a paintbrush?”

“Hmm, yeah, the metal arm represents… uh… technology! And the paintbrush represents the need to cling to tradition. The past. Art critics will eat that up,” Sunshine-guy nods, all self-important, with mischief in his eyes.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, I’m not!”

“All I see is Cthulhu eating up bits of nuclear waste.”

“Ah, a horror fan! Well, then, just sell it to pulp fiction, and you’ll make a buck or two.”

“That’s my name,” Bucky blurts out, because he’s an anti-social moron. “Bucky. Not Buck-or-two. I was trying to pun. You know what,” Bucky says, as the smile grows on Sunshine-guy’s face, “I’m gonna shut up now…”

“…I’m Steve,” the guy stretches out his hand.

Bucky just stares.

Steve-the-Sunshine-guy doesn’t even look offended, he just shrugs, and scribbles something down, passing it to Bucky. “If you ever wanna talk art. Or better horror books.”

Bucky stares down at the scrap piece of paper.

It’s Steve’s number.

(He doesn’t do a goofy victory dance afterwards. He _doesn’t_.)


	2. Blurred Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to continue this, since it's so nice to have a purely... happy story to fall back on when i get writer's block :)

Bucky doesn’t call that day. Or the next. Or… the next. He tells himself he’ll do it tomorrow. Then tomorrow becomes three days later, then a week. If he could punch last week’s Bucky and threaten the guy to just _call Steve already_ , he would.

It’s just… hard sometimes. Getting out of bed. Trying not to punch everyone he sees. Trying not to bury himself in blankets and shut out the world so he won’t have to dissociate.

He almost doesn’t show up to his next Art Therapy session, but his roommate Shuri (who he’s sure is secretly Wakadan royalty, no joke when her menacing ‘Aunts’ show up all the time) kicks him out with threats to leave him out on the balcony to sleep if he doesn’t go.

Thus, Bucky finds himself sitting awkwardly in yet another painting session, glaring at the tree everyone’s supposed to imitate.

“This is such bullshit,” Bucky mutters, when his tree branches start looking like twisted grey noodles, entangled together. “Just look like a tree, you little—”

“Looks like a tree to me,” someone says behind.

“Gah!” Bucky whips around, slashing his paintbrush at the attacker.

Sunshine-Steve blinks at him, now assaulted with huge streaks of grey all over his shirt and glasses.

“Shit,” Bucky drops the paintbrush, more blobs raining grey on the floor. “ _Shit_. Uh,” he scrambles for a wad of napkins. “I can fix this. I’ll clean it. Do you want a new shirt? I can give you one of my shirts, _I mean not that I can’t BUY_ you a new shirt—”

Steve laughs, and Bucky wishes he could record that sound because it makes him giddy and panicked all at once. “Don’t worry about it, I get paint on myself all the time, see?”

He points at the blurs of black and grey, already dabbed on his sleeves.

Bucky breathes slowly, trying not to stay obsessively at those long fingers. “Oh.”

“Hazards of being an artist. I need to stop buying white shirts, but they’re pretty cheap at the thrift store. Anyways, I just came in to borrow a few more easels for the other room…”

“Other room?” Bucky says numbly, because he can’t think past Steve’s blue eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve ducks his head down, a lovely blush on his cheeks. “I teach the class across the hall… the sketching class. We work with a lot of charcoal and pencils. Sometimes we do life-drawing or sketch outside. It’s nice. You should come sometime.”

“Iwill,” Bucky says quickly.

Steve actually pauses to look at him incredulously. “Really?”

Shit. Was Bucky not supposed to answer positively? “I mean, only if you want me there. I’m clearly not cut out to be a Picasso or whatever so…”

“No, no, I mean, that’s great! It’s just… you didn’t call so I just assumed…” Steve trails off, looking down at the blobs of grey on the ground.

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Ithinkyou’rereallyneat!” he blurts out, catching the attention of everyone in the class. Then, because Bucky might as well go all in, “I didn’t call because I was having a bad week, not because of you. I think you’re cool. And… neat.”

Urgh, not that word again.

“So…” Steve says slowly, with a hesitant smile on his face, “you’ll call…?”

“I… yes, yes, I will. I’ll do it right now, see? I’m dialling,” Bucky babbles, flipping through his pitiful contacts to ‘Sunshine Steve’ and pressing call. Shit. He hopes no one saw the contact name. Crap, Steve’s smiling wider, the little shit probably saw everything, abort mission—

Steve pulls out his phone, taps answer, and lifts it up to his ear. “Hey,” he says softly, never breaking his gaze from Bucky’s.

“…Hey,” Bucky says, probably equally as soft, because Bucky is weak. So weak.

“Oh my god,” someone, Betty most likely, groans from the back. “Just kiss already.”

“You can’t just say that, Betty!”

 _Yeah,_ Bucky mentally agrees, wondering if Steve will stop talking to him if he flips her off. Bucky’s brain is too busy going through a meltdown at the word ‘kiss’ to properly process that _WAIT, is Steve moving closer? It’s too soon, they haven’t even held hands and Bucky hasn’t bought him dinner or told him about how he wants them to get a house together and three dogs and—_

Steve gently swipes his finger against Bucky’s nose. Then he looks away. “There, uh, was a bit of paint there.”

The class goes silent.

“For fuck’s sake,” Betty booms, seeming ready to charge over and mash their heads together.

“Rogers,” the actual art instructor for the painting session, Nick Fury, strolls back in with a cup of much needed coffee, “get the fuck out of my class and go teach _your_ students.”


	3. Sparkle

“So,” Fury says to Bucky when class ends, “you’re gonna jump ship to another course?”

Bucky stares down at his finished painting. The tree looks nothing like the one that everyone was supposed to ‘copy’. That tree has warm orange hues, as if the leaves decided to breathe in the sunset. Bucky’s tree ended up with strange blue wilting lines, like a frozen willow draining the sky, all because he dipped his brush in blue instead of orange.

Still… Bucky kind of likes it. The tree looks ugly as hell, but in a good way.

“I dunno,” Bucky admits, “I kind of like the feel of painting now.”

Fury glances from the tree, to Bucky’s smile, and says, “Good. Now get the fuck out. I don’t get paid to talk to you after hours.”

Bucky snorts. “You know I’m your favourite student.”

“ _You’re_ not. But you’re probably Rogers’ favourite, and you haven’t even joined his class. He’s in the room across the hall. His class ends in thirty minutes but he lets people sit in, even when they’re late. Lot nicer than what I would do.”

Bucky gapes at him. “Are you actually giving me advice…?”

Fury rolls his eyes. “Rogers is a good kid. He’s a rough life and deserves a break. So do you.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, feeling oddly touched. He hasn’t known Fury for long, but he’s heard that Fury used to serve in Korea. Fury must see a lot more in Bucky than he thinks.

“Get going, Barnes, time’s a ticking. And you better treat Rogers right.”

Bucky grins. “Yes sir.”

::

The moment Bucky sees Steve sketching though, he _almost_ considers jumping from Fury’s sessions to Steve’s because _wow_ , he did not know anyone could draw such intricate works from pencil.

The whole class seems to be focused on their own sketches. Some people are better than others. Bucky sees that the only word on the chalkboard is ‘joy’. He guesses that every student is drawing something that they think represents ‘joy.’ There are sketches of balloons, families, beaches, a bed…

But Steve seems to be sketching two people, walking hand in hand, in the stars. Each star seems made up of different fantasy motifs—a star for _Star Trek_ , a star for _Lord of the Rings,_ a star for magical girl anime (Shuri loves making Bucky watch that stuff.)

Bucky just sits there and watches them all sketch, content.

::

When the class ends and all of Steve’s students leave, Bucky leans against the doorway with his blue-tree canvas, and tries to look cool.

“So, I was thinking we could get a coffee?” Bucky asks, when Steve finally looks up.

Steve just stares.

“Uh… or maybe not?” Is Steve a tea guy? Does he not drink caffeine? Should Bucky have said smoothies? Smoothies are healthy and friendly for everyone, right?

Then Steve bursts into the most beautiful smile. Bucky swears the air has sparkles. “You stayed behind for me?”

Bucky shakes himself out of his awed stupor. “Yeah, of course. I owe you for not calling earlier. And, well, I really wanted to talk to you more.”

Steve’s smile grows brighter. “I really want to talk to you more too.”

Then, because Bucky is convinced he’ll internally combust and die right on the spot from embarrassment, says, “SailorJupiterismyfavourite.”

Steve blinks. “Uh, what?”

“The, uh, sketch you did. It’s good. I just saw that one star… made up of Sailor Moon stuff… It was Sailor Moon stuff, right?” _Please be Sailor Moon_ , Bucky thinks.

“Yeah!” Steve beams, “Oh wow, I haven’t met a lot of guys who like it.”

 _Thank you Shuri,_ Bucky thinks as he and Steve walk out, talking about anime.


	4. Coffee

_Shit, I don’t know any nearby coffee shops_ , Bucky realizes as soon as they step onto the street. The last time he was in a Starbucks, he stared at the overwhelming list of all the beverages, trying to remember what he used to drink and if he would still like it before he walked out. Shuri usually makes really fancy coffees for him free of charge (she likes to experiment with flavours) in exchange for Bucky taking over the cooking.

Bucky eyes a nearby store that looks coffee-related and blanches. The building looks so run-down and out of the way that he’s _sure_ it’s probably secretly run by a gang. For a minute, Bucky thinks Steve might walk towards that very shop, but thankfully, Steve just points at a more brightly lit store called the _Green Bean_.

“That place is pretty good. And vegan. In case you’re vegan.”

“Okay,” Bucky refuses to swoon as how thoughtful Steve is. Wait. “Uh, you aren’t vegan, are you?”

“Oh, no. I can’t go without meat. I need the iron. And protein. Plus, I’m always good for a nice hot dog,” Steve winks. “The ones they serve at baseball games are the best.”

Baseball! Yes! Another thing they have in common!

Eagerly, Bucky goes into a discussion with Steve about which teams are the best when they sit down at their table. The café seems nice… and coffee-y. The walls are, of course, green, but a soothing kind of green, the colour of mint ice cream. Each light is dimmed down, not overwhelming like walking into the white lights of an apple store, and Bucky likes the light jazz they have playing in the background.

In this light, with the soft music, Steve looks just… beautiful. Sun-kissed.

“Um… Bucky?”

He could stare for hours…

“Buck-or-two? Buckaroo? Hello?”

Bucky almost spills his glass of complimentary water. “Huh? What did you just call me?”

Steve fiddles with his glasses, cheeks rosy. “Uh, just Buckaroo. As a joke. You know, from when we first met. You tried to pun. I guess I did too. Whoops. Sorry for being weird.”

“No, no! You’re not weird! You’re perfect! _I’m weird!”_ Shit, Bucky’s said too much. Now Steve is going to leave and—

“Are you kidding,” Steve has the angriest look that Bucky has ever seen and it’s kind of hot and terrifying. “You’re not weird at all. _You’re_ the perfect one.”

Bucky finds himself, yet again, speechless. “Wait what?”

“Well, you’re…” Steve waves his hand up and down, “you. Just… muscles. And really nice eyes. A god-damned smile too.”

“Um…” Bucky needs time to boot-up. “A ‘god-damned’ smile?”

“Too god-damned beautiful. Your smiles should be illegal.”

Ohmygod.

“ _Your_ smiles should be illegal! I’ve been calling you _Sunshine-Steve_ in my head _all week_.”

“What,” Steve’s cheeks get rosier. Bucky wonders if they can get brighter.

“Yup,” Bucky shows Steve his shame on his phone.

“No, you can’t call me _Sunshine-Steve_.”

“Then you can’t call me perfect and god-damned.”

“Then you shouldn’t _be_ perfect then.”

“Then you shouldn’t be _sunshine_ ,” Bucky sings.

“See?!” Steve’s face is practically a tomato by now. Bucky is proud of himself. “You can even _sing?!_ How are you so perfect?!”

“Are you kidding me, open up your sketchbook and show me how a person made of literal sunshine draws, right now.”

“Um,” a nervous waitress interrupts. “I think you’re both pretty. But can you please give me your orders?”

Steve and Bucky just blink blankly at her before bursting into laughter. Bucky doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this.


	5. Walk Home

Steve, when he’s not being stubborn about how awesome he is, makes the best jokes. He’s an artist part-time, when he isn’t helping out with Art Therapy. He works with pastels and pencils. His favourite characters are Samwise Gamgee and Princess Mononoke. Apparently he has a pet turtle named Cap, and he wants to draw comics someday.

Basically, he’s more than Sunshine.

Bucky, turn, tells Steve briefly that he served in Afghanistan for a bit (just the two-sentence sparknotes, no need to open that can of trauma), that he used to play jazz piano and be a mechanic until well… He talks more about meeting Shuri through a bad run-in with her brother. T’Challa thought Bucky had stolen something from his father until the misunderstanding had been cleared and somehow T’Challa had dragged Bucky into their family who Bucky is _still convinced_ is secretly royalty. Darn mysterious Wakadan politicians who never show their faces.

Steve and Bucky end up splitting a very good spinach and soy quiche. Bucky tries not to freak out every time their forks accidentally touch or to stare at the crumbs clinging to Steve’s lips. Instead, he focuses on the taste of the quiche. Who knew vegan recipes could actually taste good?

Bucky contemplates buying a cookbook from the café to treat Shuri’s extended family when they come by on Sunday (M’Baku always insists on vegetarian options) when Steve reaches over and pays for the cookbook himself.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that…”

“Nah,” Steve shrugs, a pink tinge on his ears. “I insist. It looks like you really want it… besides, you wouldn’t let me pay for the quiche.”

True. They had been arguing over who was going to pay for the coffee and food for about ten minutes before the poor waitress told them to just _choose already_. In the end, they did a coin toss. Bucky won. His wallet won’t be thanking him anytime soon but seeing the quiet appreciation on Steve’s face was worth it. Being an artist probably doesn’t pay much.

“Are you kidding? If my Ma was alive, she’d throttle me if I didn’t pay for our…”

Steve smiles, stepping a bit closer. “Our what?”

“Um,” Bucky mentally shuts down, his mind waxing poetry about the way Steve looks when he gets cocky. “Well. I don’t want to presume… but, I was hoping, this might be a meeting between two people who like each other. Well, I mean, _of course_ , people go get coffee with other likeable people, but I mean, _like,_ as in a maybe-possibly-romantic-way, if you want.”

 _Arghhh. Barnes, you fool!_ He berates himself. _Don’t just lay down all your cards like that! Look, Steve’s already looking away, rejection is imminent!_

Rather than politely turn Bucky down, and walking away from his life forever, Steve blurts out, “You actually _like_ me?”

“Does he need to spell it out for you?! He just used the words _romantic_ and _like_ in the same sentence!” an old guy says from the back of the café.

“I _know_ , Mr. Stan, _I heard him_ ,” Steve yells back.

“To be fair, dear, the young man wasn’t very clear,” Mr. Stan’s wife murmurs, looking pitifully at Bucky.

“Fine, you know what, _yes_ , I like you. Romantically. I want to date you and hold your hand and put my arm around you during the movies and meet all your friends. That clear enough for you, lady?” Bucky scowls.

The old lady pulls out a handkerchief and wipes her eyes. “Yes, that was beautiful.”

Mr. Stan looks at her appalled.

“Uh,” Steve blushes, “then I accept.”

The whole café bursts into applause. Nosy little shits.

“So…” Bucky stares, not knowing what to do next. To think, he used to pick up guys and gals no problem in college. What happened, Barnes? What _happened_.

“So…” Steve echoes back.

“Do you… wanna… hold hands… and I can walk you home…?”

Steve beams and does exactly that.

::

They walk quietly through the streets, listening to the cars passing by. Even at night, the city is busy.

“Uh, about earlier,” Steve speaks up, “sorry about what Mr. and Mrs. Lee said. I go to that café a lot and they know me. They like to put their nose in everything.”

“Hey, I think it’s kind of nice.”

“Good, because—”

Sirens sound just a block away, bright lights flashing around as more and more firetrucks rush towards the unfortunate bakery on the corner. Bucky hears them swirling round and round in his head, he can hear Gabe and Morita shouting at him to take cover, _James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, 325725…_ Steve speaking…

Steve…

“…Buck, hey Bucky… let’s sit down here okay… it’s going to be fine… just breathe with me…”

He tries to do that, focus on Steve’s voice, ignore the blurred colours. _Breathe…_

“You’re doing great, Buck. Just keep breathing… Why don’t you tell me five things you can see…”

See, what can he see?

“You,” he says, making Steve blush. “Your eyes.” He looks down at their intertwined fingers. “Your hands. My shoes. The sidewalk.”

“Good, good… what about five things you hear.”

“Uh…” this is tricky. _James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, 325725…_ “Your voice. The… sirens. Cars. Footsteps, far away. My… my heartbeat.”

“Alright…” Steve says softly, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s hand. “And five things you feel?”

Bucky huffs. “Your hands. Your breath. The brick against my back. The cold. Numb.”

Steve nods, crouching a bit closer. “How do you feel now?”

“…Better.” Like he knows where he is. Like he’s back in his body. He grips Steve’s hand tighter. “S-sorry…” He ducks his head away. “Guess I’m not so cool after all, huh?”

“Hey,” Steve brings their hands close to his chest, “we all got our ghosts. I’ve been there. S’how I knew that grounding trick. Ma used to do it with me all the time.”

“…I’m sorry,” Bucky says, because these ‘ _dissociating’_ episodes just suck and he hates that Steve knows what they’re like too.

“Hey, I’m glad I was here to help.”

Bucky hates that he can’t process the magnitude of what he’s feeling, can’t even spill out the words _thank you_. He just holds Steve’s hand tighter and wonders if that’s enough.

“…Still wanna go on that date with me?” he says weakly.

Steve’s eyes are shiny, not with pity but understanding and (dare he think it?) affection. “Yeah, Bucky,” he leans down to kiss their intertwined hands, “not gonna scare me off.”

Bucky should break it off, right now. He’s too messed up and tired. He still goes to therapy, for fuck’s sake, how can he handle a relationship?

But Steve makes him happy, and Bucky’s therapist keeps telling him to let himself be happy. So maybe… maybe Bucky can have this moment. Just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've dissociated before, but usually in really traumatizing situations where you don't get to get away. The safest thing to do is just... dissociate. I usually just lock myself in a bathroom afterwards and get away from the toxic situation and try to just... focus on breathing. I didn't want to get into the details about dissociation here because I have a hard time describing them. They're murky... it's like you're there and not there. I never like remembering them. So Bucky's pov kind of surfacely describes it because he can't really articulate it either. It's not really a panic attack, per say, just... zoning out. The way I wrote it though can be interpreted as a panic attack. I hope that makes sense!
> 
> The grounding technique in this chapter was suggested to me by a counselor once but I've never tried it personally. I do like the idea of Steve being able to ground Bucky through lived experience and understanding so I hope it came across well.


	6. First Date

“…Are you winning the staring contest with your closet?” Shuri asks.

Quietly, Bucky looks at her, then back at his collection of baggy jeans and hoodie, then puts his face in his hands with a groan. “Everything I wear is trash.”

Why did he think he could do this? Who let him buy all of these hoodies? Why doesn’t he have one nice looking shirt that will meet his standards for Steve? Why??

“Whoa there, okay, back up here. I’m missing something. Are you… going out on a date?”

Bucky makes more distressed bear-like noises.

“Awww… you’re getting out of the house! I feel so proud. Hold on, let me text Nakia and tell her the good news. Oh, and MJ and Peter—”

“NO, _no_ , don’t you dare snapchat this—”

“Then put on your best hoodie and jeans and get out there!”

Bucky scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to… I dunno, help me out with what to wear?”

“What do I look like? A fashionista?”

Well, yes. Shuri always looks flawless.

Bucky tries the trademark puppy eyes that his sister Becky always falls for.

But Shuri rolls her eyes and flips him off. “I have an older brother AND cousin who do better _kawaii_ eyes than you. Pay me and I’ll help you.”

Bucky gapes at her appalled. “But you’re rich!”

Her eyes gleam. “Didn’t say I want _money_. Just payment. Like… say… being my guinea pig when I want to test out my new inventions for the next six months?”

Quietly, Bucky considers his options. Steve doesn’t seem the type to care about appearances, after all, he’s hasn’t seen Bucky’s face fully shaved yet. Or without baggy eyes and greasy hair. Maybe things will be fine? But… is it petty for Bucky to want Steve to keep looking at him with adoring eyes?

“Fine,” he agrees, listening to Shuri’s cheers of triumphs.

::

Bucky spots Steve standing in the cinema lobby, fiddling nervously with his sleeves. For a minute, Bucky has to catch his breath because of how handsome Steve looks in his blue shirt and jeans. He’s even wearing a nice sweater over it all. Bucky, on the other hand, suddenly feels overdressed in the fancy purple designer shirt Shuri borrowed from T’Challa.

But Steve’s eyes go wide, scanning Bucky up and down with clear awe, and Bucky decides he owes Shuri something nice next Christmas.

“Wow.” Steve’s lips part. “You look like a movie star.”

Bucky grins widely to hide his brush. “Well you look like an angel.” He winks. That’s flirting, right? Not too corny?

Steve’s face goes completely red. Would it Bucky be breaking first date etiquette if he put his arm around Steve’s waist and brought him close? Because suddenly Bucky doesn’t want to share this adorable sight with anyone.

“I’m not… I mean… you’re much more attractive than I am, I mean… _wow_.”

“Wow,” Bucky echoes, still looking and grinning at Steve.

Steve scowls, trying to hide his smile. “Are ya just gonna echo me all night?”

“Only the good stuff.”

With another laugh, Steve peeks at Bucky again and murmurs, “Uh, kind of awkward, and, well, silly maybe. But. I got you something. You don’t have to keep it, but here.”

Steve holds out a little daisy with bright white petals. There’s even a little blue ribbon on it. For several moments, Bucky just stares at it, blown away by the simple act of kindness. No date has ever given him flowers before. _He_ usually does it. And the flowers are usually kind of tacky, since Bucky knows shit about flowers.

But this? It feels… tender. Too precious for words.

“I...” Steve’s face crumbles. “Sorry, this was stupid. I’ll take it back home and make a bookmark out of it, sorry, I just thought—”

“Steve—”

“I mean, you’re this really hot guy, and I’m _me,_ I have stupid ideas, and I look—”

“ _Steve!_ ”

Bucky takes the flower and puts it behind his ear. The action makes Steve gape, especially when Bucky grins down at him and says, “Well? Don’t I look good?”

Steve’s face turns soft, as he buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah. Always.”

“Good. Gotta look best for my best guy.”

“I, you,” Steve’s face goes back to that lovely shade of red. “ _Bucky!_ ”

“Raise ya to the ticket booth! I’m paying!”

“What?! No! Bucky, come back!”

They race over with silly grins on their faces and Bucky thinks that maybe he’s not too bad at this dating thing.


	7. Cinema

Bucky starts sweating nervously when they have to choose a movie to watch. It’s just… he didn’t really notice how many people were jammed packed in these places. Granted, apparently it’s Friday night (what is time even) so maybe Bucky should have _known_ , but he hasn’t exactly seen a movie in an actual theater in years so…

Yeah. Now he’s staring at the title of movies and wondering which one has been in the theater longest and will have the least people in it.

“Hmm… what are you thinking, Buck?” Steve asks, brow furrowed in thought for their movie. He looks up at Bucky and grins sheepishly, which is so unfair. Even his sheepish grins look like pure sunshine in a bottle. “You a horror guy?”

“Uh. Yes,” Bucky says because anything Steve likes must be good right? And the film has definitely been released for a while, he’s been seeing commercials for months on Youtube before his cat videos.

“Oh. Great,” Steve smiles quickly. He turns round to the cashier and immediately orders tickets for _Haunted Horror Show of Dr. Strange._

“Wait, I’ll pay,” Bucky insists, trying to find his wallet.

“Nah, I got it,” Steve winks. “You pay next time.”

“What?” Bucky’s dreams of being chivalrous and cool in front of Steve waver in the face of him wanting to save money. “But…”

“Hey,” Steve intertwines his hands with Bucky’s. “It’s cool. We’re partners right? I’ll hold your weight too.”

“I…” Bucky feels his face heat up, “Well I wanna hold _your_ weight.”

Steve laughs and looks away. “I barely weigh anything. You don’t have to carry me.”

Bucky’s not sure why that statement disturbs him so much, but before he can comment on it, Steve tugs him forward with exclamations about popcorn and Bucky will _definitely_ pay for that!

::

The theater, thank god, is almost empty save for a few loners sitting in the middle of the theater. Bucky feels his shoulders relax. This is good. This is nice. As if Steve and he are the only ones in the room.

“Can we sit in the back?” Steve whispers. “It’s… better for my eyes,” he adds, as if embarrassed.

Well hell be damned if Bucky will let anyone give Steve trouble over this! He throws his arms over Steve’s shoulder, and it feels as natural as breathing.

“Anything for my guy,” Bucky blurts out, inwardly cheering that he can still somewhat flirt.

The pleased huff Steve gives him is worth it.

::

Sitting in their seats starts off a bit awkward until Steve just shrugs and leans against Bucky’s shoulders during previews and asks if it’s okay.

 _Hell yeah,_ Bucky thinks, happily putting his arm on the back of Steve’s seat.

They both share a large popcorn and nearly finish the whole thing when the movie turns on. The plot seems like the typical horror thing, Bucky thinks. He’s not too familiar with horror, never able to take it seriously with all the bad acting and terrible special effects.

Apparently, some family is moving into a house despite very well-known rumours that someone was murdered in that house a few decades before. This family has no regard for their own safety. Bucky bets the really loud one will die first.

The movie drags on and on with more exposition and predictable jump scares. Bucky keeps distracting himself with inner commentary of who will die next, enjoying the feeling of Steve in his arms, when he notices how quiet Steve is being.

One glance and he sees how green Steve turns when the weird ghost/possible-serial-killer/maybe-hallucination on screen stabs its third victim.

Oh god, did he give Steve food poisoning? Was there something wrong with the popcorn?!

“You okay?” Bucky grunts, hiding all the internal screaming running around in his head.

“Oh yeah. Totally fine,” Steve blurts out.

“Yeah… no. Seriously? Do you feel sick? We can leave if you want, I mean…”

“No, no,” Steve shakes his head. “You wanted to see this movie right? It’s, uh, it’s pretty good…” Another scream fills the theater and Steve turns greener.

The dots begin to connect in Bucky’s brain.

“Steve… Steve… babe… did you… only pick this movie because you thought I would like it?”

“ _No_.”

Bucky stares.

“Okay. Well. Maybe. I mean.”

Bucky stares more.

“Alright, fine. I hate horror movies like this. I mean, it’s got no plot. Where’s the deeper meaning? Also did that ghost thing _have_ to burn her corpse too?! Isn’t that overkill?!”

Bucky bursts out into laughter.

Steve glares at him. “Oh sure,” he hisses, “laugh it up.”

“No, no, babe, _babe_ , I think it’s sweet. I’m not laughing at _you_. I’m laughing at _us_. I mean. Look at us! I _hate_ horror movies. I just thought _you_ wanted to see it.”

As the sound of chainsaws rises in the theater, Steve just blurts out, “What.”

“Oh yeah, they’re more hilarious than scary. I mean, look at that chainsaw. Where did he even get that from? Isn’t he a ghost or something?”

Steve starts to smile again. “I was thinking murderous betrayed ex-dentist.”

Bucky leans closer and whispers, “I’d love to hear the story behind _that._ ”

They spend the rest of the movie whispering back and forth several rewrites of the movie.

::

“Hey Steve?” Bucky whispers, as he walks Steve back to the bus stop, trying to think of what to say.

“Yeah?” Steve says softly, the night lights shining in his eyes.

Bucky thinks of the way Steve put Bucky first over himself tonight. The way Steve sometimes goes quiet and hunches in on himself. Maybe it’s nothing. Just first date jitters. But…

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, tucking Steve closer to himself. “You’re just really damn handsome, ya know?”

Steve laughs. “Keep saying that and I might believe you.”

That’s the plan, Bucky thinks.


	8. Sketches

Bucky hasn’t left his bed in three days. The blankets are starting to smell moldy; he’s sure that his hair is sticky with dandruff and that dirt that builds up on people if they don’t shower in a while. He wants to sink into the mattress and never resurface again.

He doesn’t even have a good excuse to be depressed. It wasn’t war trauma this time or family issues. Just… the fact that he can’t paint anything _good_. He looked at his weird swirly paintings during his last art session and just… shut down. Wanted to tear it apart. Everything he touches is garbage. He can’t make anything _worthy_ or beautiful like—

Someone knocks on the door.

Bucky groans and buries his head in the smelly pillow. Shuri will leave him alone eventually.

“Uh, Bucky? Your roommate said if you don’t come out, she’ll make her cat attack you. Also, I brought muffins?”

Huh. That sounded like—

“Steve?!” Internally, Bucky starts to freak out. There are clothes all over the floor. Dust has built up and created a colony over basically everything. He doesn’t want to see Steve but he _does_ and, oh no, is that his underwear on top of a pizza box?!

“Yeah! Is this a bad time? Sorry, I got a bit worried when you didn’t answer my texts for the past few days, and I know you mentioned having depression, so I thought food might make you feel a bit better? Or a friendly voice? Right. Sorry. I’m being too pushy, I’ll just leave the muffins here and go…”

“I’ll take them!” Shuri says from beyond the door. Hell no, not even Shuri can touch Steve’s muffins, especially if he brought them for _Bucky_.

In a weird burst of energy that Bucky didn’t even know he had, he throws open the door and yanks Steve (and the muffins) into his room. Then locks it.

“Hey!” Shuri yells. “See if I help you pick date outfits next time you go out! Stingy!”

“Uh,” Steve blinks, likely bewildered at Bucky’s wild state. “I can go if you…”

“No!” Bucky says too quickly, before regretting it. Steve has seen Bucky at his lowest and smelliest, he’s probably realizing what a loser Bucky is and wants to leave—

Quietly, Steve takes Bucky’s hand and smiles so softly that Bucky wants to cry. “Okay. I’ll stay right here.”

“I…” Bucky will not cry, he will _not_ , “are you sure? I… I’m kind of a mess right now. I can’t even get up properly… or talk… or… anything, really.”

“Hey, it’s okay! We don’t have to _do_ stuff together to be together, you know? I can just sit here and be with you, sketch a bit, and you don’t have to be alone. Does that sound good?”

“Well…” Bucky tries to think of what to say other than _how are you perfect_ and _what did I do to deserve you_. Instead he tears up and just nods. “That’d be great.”

So Steve sits next to Bucky on the mattress. He doesn’t even complain about the smell. Nah, Steve just hands Bucky a muffin, asks a bit about Bucky’s health, and quietly opens his sketchbook.

It’s soothing. It’s so… nice to be with someone who doesn’t ask or pester Bucky about what’s wrong. Steve just listens and stays. Steve just waits for Bucky to make the first move and Bucky feels like he could choke on the kindness.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah Buck?”

God, he loves how Steve always looks earnestly at him.

“I feel like complete trash right now.”

“Oh Buck,” Steve frowns. “Can I hug you right now?”

Bucky opens his arms.

They hold each other for a long time.

::

“…It’s stupid,” Bucky says, after a while.

“Having a mental health day isn’t stupid,” Steve rebukes.

“Nah, I mean, when it’s about the war… I don’t beat myself up nearly as much. But this time, I was just… painting a stupid cat. And I couldn’t get it _right_. The paws ended up looking sloppy, I couldn’t get the eyes the shape I wanted. I just… If I can’t even paint a freaking cat, how am I ever going to get better?”

“Hey, look at me,” Steve said quietly.

Slowly, Bucky turned his face down to Steve’s.

“You’re dealing with a lot of shit, Buck. Emotions are hard, ugly, and just plain messy. Art’s supposed to be a way for you to process and deal with that. Of course, you’re going to get frustrated when you can’t figure out what you’re feeling. That’s totally okay. Getting better… it’s a process. You’re allowed to have bad days during that process, it doesn’t mean you’re not getting better.”

“…Alright.” Bucky doesn’t know if he believes it, but when Steve says these things with such faith, he feels like maybe there’s truth to those words after all.

“Besides,” Steve grins, “I’ll be here to listen.”

Bucky believes him.

::

 _Hey Buck?_ Steve texts him the next day. _Mind if I show you something?_

Bucky, feeling better enough to clean his room a little, texts back, _you can show me anything_. A lewd side of him hopes for sexy pictures.

Instead, Steve sends him a link to some old sketches dated back as far as ten years ago. Some of the sketches have arms that are too big and noodle-y; some sketches have giant eyeballs too big for the subject’s head. But they all have a vibrancy to them. A Steve-touch.

_I used to hate everything that I drew. I quit so many times. I fell into a lot of dark spots in my life but I kept drawing and practising. I think, as long as your art makes YOU happy, or makes at least ONE person smile, then it’s beautiful. It’s art._

_Your art makes me smile, Buck. I hope you keep drawing. We can get better together._

Silently, Bucky wipes his cheeks and wobbly types back. _Punk, you’re already so good._ (In more ways than one.) _But I’ll bite. I’m gonna be the best damn painter you’ll ever see._

And he’ll make Steve smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression can be so hard and ugly. I know for some people, even having someone to wake you up might not help. But for me, I think having someone who honestly cares, who listens, can make so much of a difference. But I'm weirdly particular about that 'someone.' Art can be such a life-saver, but at the same time, when you're in that mood, art can be draining. I hope this chapter shows how it's a bit of both with Bucky (and Steve)


	9. Broke

“Want to go out next Friday?” Bucky asks after the latest art therapy session.

“Um…” Steve stares at his feet. “I dunno…”

Bucky’s face falls. Did he do something wrong? Was it his episode last week? Damn it, Bucky shouldn’t have opened the door, even to defend his claim to Steve’s muffins, he should have—

“I definitely want to go!” Steve blurts out, reaching out for Bucky’s hand and rubbing his thumb along his palm. The contact is soothing. Like coming home. “I’m just. A bit tight on money right now…” He ducks his head down with shame. “I’ve got enough for next month’s rent this week… and some ramen cups…”

Bucky’s eyes almost burst out of his face. “Ramen cups?!”

“They’re pretty good if you get the ones from Japan in the store,” Steve defends, “less oil in those ones. And besides, they can be filling? Especially if you have a few eggs lying around. I might be able to convince my neighbour to give me some of her lettuce in the garden if I promise to sweep her house for a week—”

“Alright,” Bucky puts his hand around Steve’s waist, “let’s go.”

“What, where?!”

“To your place. My treat. I’m making you dinner,” Bucky decides, unable to get the image of Steve sadly eating cup noodles in a corner of a tiny apartment out of his mind. “No excuses. Do you like ravioli?”

“No, wait,” Steve wrestles himself out of Bucky’s grip. “It’s just ramen cups. I’ll be fine. I don’t need your pity, we can go out after I get paid in two weeks—”

How oh how did Bucky not notice Steve’s giant martyr complex?

“Steve,” Bucky cups his face, “babe, sweetheart,” he adds because of the stubborn glint in his sunshine’s eyes, “I’m doing this because I want to. I don’t care if we’re dining out at Sal’s diner, or at the movies, or just sitting on a park bench. I just want to spend time with you. And cooking for you? That’s more of a treat for me than for you. I _like_ doing things for you,” liking holding open the door with a cheeky grin, and beating Steve for paying the bill first, “makes me feel needed. Useful. I get a nice rush. S’not just for you.”

Steve studies Bucky’s face carefully before the stubbornness melts away to fatigue. “You… you sure about this? My place is small… I haven’t cleaned in a while…”

“Hey,” Bucky plants a slow kiss on his lips. Their first one. Still too quick for Bucky’s liking, but the dazed glaze in Steve’s eyes is worth it. “Let me take care of you too, for once.”

This snaps Steve out of his daze. “As if. You keep trying to one-up me. Gotta keep ahead while I can.”

Bucky sneaks in another kiss, smug at Steve’s reaction. “S’not a competition.”

Maybe one day, they’ll both believe it.

::

They argue about brands of noodles—the cheap brand that’s just a dollar versus the higher quality brand that’s three dollars a box. Then they argue about sauce, whether to make it from a can or natural tomatoes (Bucky insists on natural, he wants to fatten Steve up). Then about meat (chicken versus beef) and finally Steve admits he has allergies to dairy so they don’t bother with that aisle.

On the way home, they each carry a bag (not that Bucky didn’t fight that decision too. Just let him be a doting boyfriend, damn it, Sunshine!) until they arrive at Steve’s apartment. Nervously, Steve mumbles, “Come on in. S’just me and Sam. Dunno if he’s out right now, the VA keeps odd hours, plus he’s an on-call nurse.”

When Bucky enters, he can’t help but whistle.

Every wall is stacked with canvases of varying sizes. Most canvas look like an explosion of colour, nothing like the blobs of paint in that one modernist style Steve showed him a while back, but like bits of stained glass smoothed over together with watercolours. It’s like looking at crystallized light peeking through the ocean, in tangible form. The other paintings seem to be mixes of soft hues and cloud, making up different portraits and landscapes. Some are unfinished, but still gorgeous in detail. Very few canvases remain blank. There are even plastic sheets strewn across the floor and furniture, dipped in paint swerves.

Small? Sure, the room might seem small, but when covered with these windows to other worlds? Bucky feels as if he’s stepped into a magical house where each canvas is a door into Steve’s heart.

“Wow,” Bucky breathes. “You… are amazing.”

Steve blushes. “S’nothing. They don’t sell well, but I’m improving.”

“I’d buy all of these for a billion a piece if I had the money.”

“You’re just saying that,” but Steve is smiling.

He hurriedly cleans the kitchen counter and Bucky gets to work as Steve tidies the living room. He’s half tempted to tell Steve to leave everything as is, but Steve really wants them to sit on the couch together and watch some sci-fi movies.

Thus, Bucky finds himself humming as he prepares dinner for his boyfriend, an added spring to his step. He hasn’t been this excited to cook since he tried to impress his Ma for Mother’s Day… if she could see him now, bless her soul…

“Hey man,” the door opens, and the roommate Sam stumbles through, “I brought you Chinese take-out. No buts or excuses, and you’re gonna eat! It’s egg-drop soup and some other healthy-looking stuff. I’m not gonna watch you eat another noodle cup, Steve, it’s disgusting and—hey, who are you?”

“Uh…” Bucky holds up a wooden spoon like a weapon (darn first-instinct reactions), “I’m Steve’s… boyfriend? Fella? Romantic partner?”

“Oh my god,” Steve says from the living room, his face growing redder.

Sam’s lips twist into a sly smirk. “Oh really…? So this is the infamous _too-handsome-to-be-real_ Bucky Barnes, huh? I didn’t know you had a hot date tonight!”

“Urgh,” Steve buries his face in his hands. “We can leave if you want. We were just going to have dinner and watch some Doctor Who…”

“No, no, I’ll just take this awesome Chinese food and go over to Nat’s. Have a hot date too. She’ll appreciate my sacrifices,” Sam hums, skipping back outside. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, _use protection!_ ”

“OH my god, Sam!”

“And make sure you feed my boy good, he does _not_ take care of himself!”

“ _SAM!_ ”

His cackles carry even after the door closes.

“Urgh,” Steve looks ready to bury himself in the couch.

“So,” Bucky smirks. “Hot date, huh?”

“Oh shut up. You know you’re hot. You _definitely_ know I think you’re hot. You’re just. Hot. Okay? Stop,” Steve grumbles and crosses his arms.

“I think you’re hot too, babe.”

“The only reason I haven’t thrown a pillow at you yet is because you’re making dinner. I make no promises for after.”

::

Bucky brings over two plates of his best ravioli over to the living room and he just melts at the sight of Steve cradling a little turtle in his hands.

“Is that…?” Bucky sets down the plates on the coffee table.

“Yup! Meet Cap!” Steve beams. “He’s a grumpy fella but a good friend. Wanna hold him?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Thus, Bucky is handed a tiny little turtle with the most deadpan expression that a turtle ever had.

“I’m internally screaming right now.”

Grinning widely, Steve takes a photo with his phone. “I know. Just wait till you see his Halloween pictures. I paint a portrait every year.”

And that’s how Steve ends up curled in Bucky’s lap, with one of his old portfolios, and Cap nestled beside him. Bucky gapes at the gorgeous watercolour renditions of Cap-the-turtle wearing various hats each Halloween—from tiny pirate hats to little bonnets to Pikachu ears. It’s damn adorable.

“How are you so perfect?” Bucky breathes.

At those words, Steve becomes very still.

Instantly, Bucky feels his heart race.

“Steve…?”

His eyes dart up to Bucky’s and Steve smiles again. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders immediately melt away. “Sorry,” Steve laughs, “just drifted off there for a sec. Hey, food’s getting cold! And I’m pretty excited to see how my guy cooks.”

“Yes!” Bucky carefully places Steve’s portfolio on the table and awkwardly maneuvers so he and Steve both have a plate but are still somewhat sprawled against each other side-by-side. “You’ll love this. Used to make it all the time before I enlisted…”

Steve’s eyes light up on the first bite.

His eager praise and insistence on seconds are worth every moment.

::

“…Hey Bucky?” Steve murmurs as they curl up to watch some Doctor Who.

Slowly, Bucky brushes his hand through Steve’s hair. Cap waddles on his leg, chomping some lettuce. “Yeah Steve?”

“I… sorry for being weird. About money earlier. I’m just… used to it, I guess. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“Hey,” Bucky’s heart feels like it’s going to melt. He tries to distract himself by kissing Steve on the cheek. Urgh. Never mind. His heart beats faster. “Anytime. I want to take care of you too. And I’ve been there. War vet, remember?”

Steve laughs softly. “Yeah…” he whispers, cuddling closer. “I remember.”

“You can tell me anything Steve. I promise.”

Quietly, he tells Bucky about growing up poor. He tells Bucky about his mother, Sarah Rogers, working night shifts and overtime just to pay for his medicine. He tells Bucky about a father who never came home, a drunk who abandoned them.

Bucky wraps himself around Steve and promises himself that he’ll never do the same.

 


	10. Imperfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIPLE UPDATE <3 Sorry for my absence! Again, I was dealing with some depression, RL stuff, and I haven't been into the MCU lately. But I finished the fic! And I will keep trying to finish my MCU WIPs because I love these two.

“You’re doing pretty well, Barnes,” Fury nods at his painting of a turtle in a cowboy hat. It’s supposed to be a rendition of Sheriff Cap, a gift for Steve, as long as he gets the shade of green right. The textures on Cap’s shell are off but Bucky likes how the colours have turned out. Hopefully, Steve likes it too.

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles a bit.

“And I don’t just mean your art. I mean, emotional wise. You seem… lighter. Well, at least you smile a lot more, instead of looking like a potential serial killer.”

Bucky chokes back a laugh. “Is that what an art teacher should be saying to a guy with PTSD?”

“I served in Korea, I can say what I want to a kid like you.”

Bucky flips him off and chuckles when Fury returns the gesture.

“Don’t test me, kid, I know thirteen different ways to kill someone with my finger.”

“So do I,” Bucky jokes.

They both share a smile.

“By the way, how’s Rogers holding up? This time of year is pretty hard on him.”

Bucky almost gets blue paint on turtle-cap’s face. “Sorry, what?” He hasn’t heard from Steve in a few days, but he thought Steve was just in artist-mode again—holing himself up under another bout of inspiration.

Fury frowns. “Wait… you don’t know?”

Obviously Bucky doesn’t know if he has to _ask_.

“Steve’s Ma… she died this time last year.”

::

Steve isn’t there when Bucky storms over to the next class. Only a sign saying that Steve’s classes are cancelled for the next two weeks. Frantically, Bucky calls him on his cellphone and hears no answer. Quickly, Bucky tells Fury that he’ll go home early to check on Steve. Then, he rushes out.

He decides to run to Steve’s place because he doesn’t think he can stand the proximity of other people on public transportation. In the meantime, he texts Sam.

_Have you seen Steve? Is he home?_

Sam texts back quickly with: _Nah, haven’t seen him all day. Thought he was working. Everything ok?_

Bucky doesn’t bother texting back. If Steve isn’t at home, then where is he?

Just when Bucky considers asking Shuri or Nakia to use their contacts to track Steve down (pros: he’ll find Steve. Cons: This is a major breach of privacy and Steve hasn’t been missing for over 48 hours yet so Bucky isn’t justified in this search but he really really needs to know where Steve is when this is such an emotionally charged time and—) he sees Steve in an alleyway.

Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief. _Thank God_ , he thinks. _I’m gonna kill him_ , he thinks next. _No, I’m just overreacting…_

But just as he thinks this, he sees three burly looking guys kick his Steve down and he sees _red_.

Before he can think, Bucky’s over there socking a punch to the tallest guy’s face and snarling at the other two for coming close. “ _Get outta here!_ ” he roars. He won’t let anyone get hurt again, no guys dying on his watch. No one will ever lay a finger on Steve or he’ll rip their heads off—

“—ucky, Bucky _stop_ , I’m fine, I had them on the ropes, I’m _fine!_ ”

Slowly, Bucky realizes that he’s wrapped up around Steve and growling at anyone who passes by. The other three bastards are long gone.

“…Oh god,” Bucky jolts away from Steve. “Are… are you okay?! Did I scare you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all alpha male on you but you were _hurt_ and I just moved on my own and did I hurt you?!”

“No, no,” Steve looks so small and his lips are bleeding, but Steve has never _felt_ small. Not when he looks at Bucky like this. “I’m fine. A few punches ain’t gonna scare me off, Buck. I was scared _for_ you. Not of you. How’s your breathing? Do you need to sit down?”

Sometimes Bucky wants to shake this crazy fella. “Am _I_ okay? What about you?! You’ve got a split lip! Are you holding your stomach?! What did those bastards do to you and where can I find them to punch them again?!”

“I said I’m fine Bucky!” Steve snaps and immediately his eyes widen with regret.

They stand uselessly, trying to breach the terrible inches between them.

“…You don’t look very fine,” Bucky whispers. “And don’t give me any bullshit about being able to handle everything on your own Steve, I know that today’s the anniversary of your Ma’s death. I know you’re not okay.”

“Bucky,” Steve ducks his head down, bangs hiding his eyes. “That’s not important… we should get you home just in case—”

“Please don’t deflect this using my issues. We’re gonna talk about _you_ , Steve Stubborn-Ass Rogers, because you’re _bleeding_ and you don’t even care about it.”

“It’ll heal up on its own. Those guys were harassing a high school girl and I had to step in—”

“Even when you’re smaller than them?!”

“Especially then, Bucky! If I don’t, then who will?”

“You should have called me!”

“I didn’t have time!”

“What, so you were gonna get the shit kicked out of you?”

“If it let her get away, then yes!”

“But what about _you?!_ ”

“ _I’m not important!_ ” Steve shouts, then immediately claps his hand over his own mouth. “I… I didn’t mean to say that.”

Bucky’s heart wants to squeeze itself out of his chest and bleed along the sidewalk.

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Do you really think you’re not important?”

With a swallow, Steve clenches his fists and looks away.

“I…” Bucky should have seen it. He was so busy focused on himself, his own issues, and he didn’t see _any_ of the signs. How Steve sometimes talked about himself, the way he would go quiet sometimes… “How long have you felt this way?”

_How long have you felt alone?_

Steve looks like he might argue again but one look at Bucky and he sighs, hunching his shoulders inwards. “A while. Not always. Just sometimes. I was bullied a lot. It’s just silly stuff I think… s’been worse since Ma died. But I’m dealing with it. I go to therapy. I take anti-depressants. I’m… dealing. I’m okay on my own.”

“…Why didn’t you tell me?” Was Bucky not good enough? Didn’t Steve trust him?

“Buck…” Steve looks up, his eyes scrunched up in furious tears. “You’ve… you’ve got so much going on. And you’re _you_. Absolutely gorgeous and strong and I just… I can’t be another burden on you.”

In that moment, Steve doesn’t look like sunshine. He looks like Steve. He’s someone that Bucky can reach and hold and just _be_ with. Someone that Bucky wants to fight side-by-side with, cry with, argue with, and be a _forever_ with.

He takes Steve’s hands and holds them close to his heart, ignoring how bewildered Steve looks.

“Idiot,” he whispers, before Steve can protest, “don’t take all the stupid with you. This thing between us shouldn't just be about my problems. It’s about yours too. You matter. _You matter, Steve Rogers_. You matter so much and I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you that till you get sick of me. I’m with you till the end of the line. If you think you’re a burden, then _I’m_ a burden too. And no, shut up, don’t say I’m not cause I can be. I know it. But I know you’ve got my back. Just… just let me have yours.”

For a few moments, no one speaks. But for once, Bucky’s anxiety doesn’t panic, doesn’t freak out. He knows Steve needs time, for his best guy, he’s willing to wait eternity.

Slowly, Steve steps closer to Bucky and leans his forehead against his chest. His breaths rush out raggedly, then in messy sobs.

“Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

They hold each other, two imperfect pieces, hoping to fit together.

 


	11. Just the Way You Are

Fury gives them an assignment to paint a landscape that they wouldn’t normally visit. Test their comfort zone. Find zen in another moment. Find the beauty in stranger places. Immediately, Bucky thinks of going to the beach. With Steve. A date. Holding hands while they walk along the shore. Seeing Steve shirtless…

He sighs longingly.

With a disgusted groan, Fury yells, “Just ask Rogers out to wherever you wanna go to paint. And there better be _some_ painting and you better not paint the inside of a god-damned love hotel or I’ll call your friend T’challa up and tell him all your embarrass—”

“I’mleavingandI’mgoingtogiveyourclassaterribleratingbye!”

::

Steve nearly drops the bucket of paintbrushes. “The beach?”

“Yeah! Let’s go! Together! I can drive and we can have hot dogs… there’s probably a lot of people for you to sketch…”

“…I dunno, Buck…”

“Oh no,” Bucky straightens his back. “Do you not like beaches? Should we go somewhere else? Maybe Coney Island?” That might be harder for an amateur like Bucky to paint, but he’s willing to compromise.

“It’s not that! I love the water. It’s just… well… it’s the _beach_. We’ll be… um… wearing swimming trunks… and I’m not the most… attractive… guy… next to you….”

“Steve. Honey-bunny. Sunshine of my life. Bae.” Bucky begins, looping an arm around Steve’s waist. “You’re gorgeous. I’ll have to beat people off with a stick to make them stop looking at ya. I couldn’t speak to you properly for a good month because you’re so damn gorgeous. Next to me, we’ll be triple the hot. Sizzling even.”

“You….” Steve’s face grows pinker by the minute, “you’re such a dork! Nope, not going anymore. Not if you embarrass me like this!”

“Aw, Steve, light of my life, I’ll worship you forever if you go!”

::

Bucky’s painting ends up being a piece of Steve drawing on the beach. He makes sure to highlight the sunshine gathered on Steve’s hair, the way the light touches the water, and every time he looks at it, he can’t help but smile.


	12. Colour

“Steve.”

“Urgh…”

Bucky bangs on the door again. “ _Steve!_ ”

“…Go away…”

Another few bangs. “ _Steve, come on out already_ , or I’ll start singing!”

Immediately, Steve pulls open the door, groggy with a blanket over his shoulder. “Buck, it’s midnight. On a Thursday. I need sleep. I was planning on sleeping.”

Bucky rocks back and forth on his heels, holding a giant wrapped package behind him. “I know but I wanted to be the first to say it!”

Steve blinks at him, brain probably still computing what Bucky plus wrapped package plus midnight plus July 4th means.

Immediately, Bucky thrusts the package in Steve’s face and Steve struggles to hold on to the wide strangely rectangular thing. “Happy birthday!”

“Uh, thanks…?” Steve settles for putting the package by his feet.

“So…?” Bucky beams.

Steve stares some more.

“Unwrap it!”

“Right… right…” Steve blinks again. “Uh, you can come in…”

Bucky races in, tugging Steve and the package down by the couch. Turtle-Cap munches on some lettuce from his tank.

Rather groggily (too slowly and too adorably in Bucky’s opinion), Steve peels away the wrapping paper on the package only to freeze at the picture there.

It’s a big canvas. A giant painting of different poses of Steve and Bucky together in different colours. Both of them smiling at each other in green. Both of them sitting at a café together in blue. Both of them at the movies in yellow. At the beach in pink. Holding each other in an alleyway in purple. Racing at Coney Island in red. So many memories, so many moments, in these bursts of colour.

The proportions are off and some of the angles awkward but every expression is vivid and expressive. Every smile feels alive with a story. Every moment is too precious to be contained in a single canvas and—

“You’ve done so much for me, since the first day we met. My life after the war was just… so empty. So _grey_. But you… just meeting you, meeting Fury, getting to paint… suddenly my life was full of colour. And it’s because of you. And I just… I just wanted you to know that. I…” Bucky takes a deep breath. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve beings to tremble.

Bucky almost bolts out of there, in fear of moving too fast, of scaring his best guy off. But then Steve pulls him in for a deep kiss, their first kiss this intense, the best kiss of his life.

Breathless, Steve pulls away, and whispers, “I love you too, damn it.”

Their kisses are full of colour.

Full of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me and my inconstant updates till the very end! Though this story is marked complete, I am open to taking prompts because it's such a fluffy and relaxing universe to write in. Thanks again!!


	13. Extra 1 - Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First requested extra! My friend in RL started reading this fic and wanted Bucky to adopt a three-legged cat. So here it is =D Happy 1-year anniversary of this fic! Why am I such an inconstant writer, why....

Shuri’s family comes to visit for the usual Sunday brunches. Bucky sighs, preparing himself for the inevitable teasing he’ll get about his terrible fashion sense from Nakia and Okoye. Luckily, M’Baku is out of town for a business meeting, otherwise he’d have three people ganging up on him. Only Eric and T’challa are Bucky’s true friends now. Shuri has already designated herself as the ‘highest’ friend.

The first thing Bucky hears when Shuri opens the door are several loud yowls.

“Brother!” Shuri laughs. “Did you rescue _another_ box of kittens? Where will you and Nakia put them? You have five cats already!”

“We are wealthy and we live in a palace, little nuisance. We always have room.”

“But do you have _time_ to dote on them _all?_ ”

T’Challa’s distressed pout makes Nakia snort. “That’s what I’ve been telling him too. I’m surprised he can balance time between his duties, visiting your mother, and spending time with you and myself. You’re not a superhero, dear.”

Okoye only snorts. “I’ve offered to adopt one but his majesty has already become too attached to them.”

Yup. Bucky twitches. With nicknames like ‘your majesty’ he’s sure that they’re all secret Wakandan royalty who like to mess with him.

“I’m not that attached! I just want them to go to good homes where their new parents will dote and treat them like empresses. You are just as busy as I am, Okoye,” T’Challa hugs the box closer to him.

Okoye punches him hard in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Is that what you brought them here? To see if I’d take them in?” Shuri giggles. “I could take one. Perhaps dear Bucky could take another.”

“What, but—?” Bucky doesn’t know anything about cats. They bite. They glare at him.

“Yes, wonderful idea!” T’Challa beams and moves the box over for Bucky to peer into. Inside are three scrunched up black kittens, some with more grey spots than the others. Bucky feels his heart melt when he sees one has only three legs, another has a missing eye, and the final one has a long scar on its cheek.

“I will take this one!” Shuri picks up the scarred kitten and coos. “She will be Princess. She will assist me in all my projects. We will rule the science world. Watch out Stark Industries!”

“And you, Bucky?” T’Challa grins.

The force of T’Challa’s smiles should be illegal. “Well…”

The kitten with three legs stares up at Bucky with big eyes, then slowly curls up near his fingers. “I guess I could take this little guy… dunno what I’ll name him…”

“Excellent! I’ll see if our friend Nick Fury will take the last kitten! For now, let them play with each other before they get separated. I’ll have the driver bring up lunch!”

(Fury does, in fact, take the last kitten. He names her ‘Cool Carol’ as a joke. “Danvers is going to punch you,” Steve warns. “I regret nothing,” Fury replies, holding Cool Carol close. Cool Carol even get a little eyepatch.)

::

As soon as brunch ends, Bucky tries to find his new unnamed kitten but panics when he sees the little guy no where in sight.

“Oh god,” he gasps, “I’m gonna go to cat hell. Cat! Cat, where are you?!”

He throws up his mattress in fear, searches in his sock bin, his clothes pile, his stack of canvas.

A crash falls behind him.

Bucky turns around.

The kitten stares back, little paws dipped in spilled paint bottles of white and blue.

“Oh no,” Bucky breathes.

The kitten lifts his paws.

“Don’t do it—”

With a dash the kitten scrambles all around the room, like a firecracker high on oxygen, claiming the entire room in pawprints of white and blue.

“God damn it, _noooo!_ ” Bucky launches at the bugger.

The kitten lands on his head, leaving a scar of white over his hair, then dashes onto the mattress.

“I just washed that!”

::

When Steve opens the door, Bucky stumbles in with the kitten, shoving said kitten into Steve’s arms.

“Steve, Steve, please take this little shit and teach it some manners. _Please_. Make it as nice and docile as Turtle-Cap, I’m begging you!”

“Um,” Steve blinks, staring at the mess of paint splatters on kitten and man. The little kitten mews pleasantly at Steve and begins to purr as it cuddles closer. “You know that turtles and cats are completely different animals, right? I’ve never had a cat before either.”

Bucky groans.

“Stupid little shit.”

The kitten seems to cackle back at him smugly.

“Gonna call you Blizzard.”

::

To Bucky’s dismay, Blizzard (or Bliz) behaves like a perfect angel for Steve. Bliz even takes a liking to Cap, not even mistaking the turtle for, well, food, but a fellow cat. The nights that Bucky and Bliz visit, Bliz always lies on top of Turtle-Cap to keep him warm.

But when Bliz comes home with Bucky, he’s a little monster again.


	14. Extra 2 - Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next extra was requested by Cody_Thomas, where one of them has to draw the other to learn perspective, angles, and proportions. Requests are always welcome in this fic =D

“Alright little shits,” Fury says during the last five minutes of class. Cool Carol the Cat mews in agreement from his shoulders. “Next assignment’s gonna be a little more interesting. We’re gonna work on some realism, give you some practise on working with different perspectives and angles. First you’re gonna pick an ordinary object and paint it from three different angles. Then I dare you to paint a person from three different angles to if you’re up to the challenge. That one’s a bonus. I’ll just be impressed if you do it. The object one’s actually due next week though.”

The first thought Bucky has is _shit, I can’t draw people_. But that’s a lie, since he tried to draw people for Steve’s birthday present and that worked out fine. But he traced. He traced a lot of references. The second thought Bucky has is _what would Steve say?_ Steve would tell him that drawing is a process and the first step is to try and fail and try and fail. Practise. This is an opportunity, damn it. And honestly Bucky just paints to relax. This should be relaxing. It _is_ relaxing. It would be even more relaxing if he could paint Steve.

Wait. He can totally paint Steve. No rules against that.

Bucky grins wide and Fury just mutters, “Yes, yes, we know you’re dopey for Rogers, Barnes. Just, go get your boyfriend and leave us singles alone.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “I thought you were married.”

Fury grins. “Am I?”

“What?! But—you said you had to get home to your spouse like, last week!”

“Did I?”

Bucky stares for a bit longer. Fury’s grin doesn’t falter.

“Damn it, I can’t tell if you’re lying or not!”

“And you never will!”

Fuck this, Bucky will just ask T’Challa and Shuri later.

(T’Challa, when asked, almost chokes on his water and refuses to answer. Shuri only laughs and bangs her hand against the table. Nakia says ‘yes’ while Okoye says ‘no’ at the exact damn time. M’Baku shrugs, ‘I don’t really care,’ while Erik murmurs, ‘I… haven’t actually asked.’ Real helpful. Thanks.)

::

“Hey bae,” Bucky brings out the puppy eyes, “Will you model for me? For my next project?”

Steve nearly drops the stack of pencil boxes on the floor. “Sorry, what? Like, nude modeling? Damn, didn’t think Fury was gonna assign that till June.”

 _Nude modeling?!_ Bucky’s face goes completely red. “No, no! Not that! I mean like normal modelling! With clothes on! Not that I don’t want to see you without your clothes on but I want our first time to be when we both want it, not for an assignment, and I’m gonnastopnowbeforeIdie.”

Bursting out in laughter, Steve snorts, “Well, if you want me naked, you just have to _ask_.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. This time, Steve laughs so hard tears come to his eyes.

“Relax Buck. I won’t jump you in the classroom. But seriously, there’s no rush to sleep together. We’re going at our own pace.” Steve moves closer to stroke Bucky’s cheek and lay a slow kiss against his nose. “I’ll wait. And if you never want to sleep together, I’ll still be good. Your pace, Buck.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Then closes it. Opens it again. Then snaps it back shut. He turns around, trying to hide his inner meltdown because hot damn, a vow of fidelity even if there might not be sex in their future should not be so damn attractive?!

“So you still want me to model? Is what I’m wearing okay?”

“Yup,” Bucky blurts out before his brain orders him to say something stupid like _let me jump you and strip you and adore you._

“Great. My place or yours?”

“Yours,” the Brain takes over because Sam will probably be out working while Shuri looovees to third wheel on Steve visits if she’s home studying.

“Cool, let’s go.” Steve takes Bucky’s hand, unaware of Bucky’s inner mantra of _don’t think of him naked, don’t think of him naked, don’t—god damn it._

::

“So how do you want me?” Steve asks. “Sitting by the window? Lying on my side?”

 _Lying next to me so I can hold you forever_.

“Uh, maybe sitting next to Cap’s tank. You can draw or something.” Bucky tries not to get distracted by how loosely Steve’s shirt hangs, showing off his collarbone. Or Steve’s ankles.

“Sounds good,” Steve opens up his sketchbook and starts drawing, lost in his zone.

For a moment, Bucky only soaks in Steve’s image. He loves moments like this, where Steve is carefree and his very soul exists in the creation of art. In these moments, Steve is free and Bucky feels like the wind trying to catch up to him. If he could watch Steve being Steve, just drawing and existing, he would.

This time, painting Steve feels so much more intimate. Before, when Bucky sketched Steve at the beach and when he drew them together for Steve’s birthday, he focused on colour and feeling. But now, each stroke of paint to recreate Steve’s body feels like a longing touch, something indescribable he feels.

Before he knows it, the sun is low, and his first painting is done. Steve stretches up his arms, sunlight soaked against his skin, and winces. “Sorry Buck. Didn’t mean to move. Are you almost done?”

“Um, yeah,” Bucky shakes his head. “We can take a break, if you want.”

“Sure, sure,” Steve nods. “I’ll make coffee.” He sets his sketchbook down, pages open, and heads towards the kitchen.

With a grin, Bucky leans over to peer at Steve’s sketches. An open book means he can look, according to Steve.

His breath nearly leaves him as he sees detailed sketches of himself. The way he bites his lip as he tries to paint, the desire in his eyes, his toned arms, and his very being. This sketch feels somehow more intense than the usual boyfriend sketches. More intimate. If Bucky were to lift this sketch side by side with his own painting of Steve, they’d complete each other.

“Here’s your coffee,” Steve sets down a cup.

“Kiss me,” Bucky says instead.

“But your other paintings—”

“I just want to kiss you until you drop, babe.”

The coffee goes cold. Bucky never does finish that extra assignment.

**Author's Note:**

> Always happy to get Stucky prompts at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/youlightthesky1), my [writing tumblr](http://youlighttheskyfanfiction.tumblr.com/), or my [art tumblr](https://youlighttheskyart.tumblr.com/)


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